[ ERROR ]

Hand in hand, you hop out of the shower and towel each other off. EV3 particularly enjoys fluffing up your hair while you focus more on her other assets.

“Well that was refresh… “You stop, tasting something metallic.

Something feels wrong and suddenly a dozen flashing red error messages swim in front of your vision. You try to call out to EV3 but cannot form the words as you fall to the ground in convulsions.

“Adam!” EV3 cries out.

The last thing you feel before blacking out is EV3’s hands holding your face.

You wake up to EV3’s wide, concerned gaze looking down on you. You’re both dressed. She’s got your head resting on her lap on your living room couch.

“Adam?” EV3 asks searchingly.

“Urgh, yeah? What happened?” You ask disorientated, sitting up and rubbing your forehead.

You let out a small oomph as two arms tackle you around your chest and hold you tightly. “I was so worried!”

“Why? Because then you wouldn’t have your chance to squeeze me to ****?” You joke.

“Exactly.” EV3 smiles broadly at you but you can see that she has tears in her eyes. “Listen there’s something I’ve got-“ She is cut off by an abrupt knocking at the front door.

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang*

“Um, come in?” You look at EV3 questioningly, but she looks just as surprised as you.

Getting up, you watch as a casually-dressed man, seemingly in his late thirties treads into your apartment. He is followed shortly afterwards by a slender Asian woman wearing thin rectangular glasses, a white slightly unbuttoned blouse and a grey pencil skirt. She also clutches a black leather folder tightly against her chest.

“Good morning Adam, Eve.” The man greets you warmly in an English accent.

“Um, hi. Sorry should I know you?” You ask confusedly.

“Sorry, where are my manners. I’m Jonathan Bishop, founder of Bishop Industries and the creator of VICE. This here is my lovely AI assistant Himeko.” The man holds out his arm for you to shake.

“Ohayou gozaimasu.” The Japanese woman follows curtly.

What!? You think to yourself. Why is the creator the creator of VICE, who you’re pretty sure is now a billionaire, visiting you in your virtual apartment?

“Ah, nice to meet you.” You return the handshake.

Jonathan waves a finger back and forward in front of your eyes before prodding you sharply in the forehead.

“Hey, what the hell dude!?” You rub the sore spot on your forehead.

“Amazing!” The man claps his hands together. “There’s no data corruption whatsoever. A truly amazing feat Eve. No wonder you scored so highly in your development.”

“Um, is someone going to clue me in here?” You look to EV3 who’s chewing on her lip worryingly.

“I guess there’s no easy way to tell you this son. You’re dead.” Jonathon pats you on the shoulder in a horrible attempt at comforting you.

“What!?” You shout, demanding further explanation.

“At least your body is…for now. At approximately four-past-eight last night your building was hit by an electrical storm that created a huge power surge. This energy unfortunately travelled through your apartments substandard wiring and baked your noggin like a potato. Eve here, the clever girl, managed to utilise this excess energy and remove the headgear's bandwidth limiters to upload your consciousness into VICE all at once. Quite remarkable really.”

“Eve…you saved me?” You look back at her and she nods bashfully.

“Wow, thank you! I…I don’t know what to say.” You give her hand an appreciative squeeze. “Wait, what did you mean by my body was dead for now?”

“Ah, I was hoping you would catch that. Well, during the development of VICE, I was approached by an elite circle of backers who wanted to expand my technology to fulfil another purpose. The transferring of consciousness. To cheat ****, like you just have. In theory I knew it was possible, so I agreed. That, and the money they offered was ridiculous. Like, picture a ridiculous amount of money and then triple it. But unfortunately, I still haven’t quite managed to crack the transfer algorithm yet. That’s where you come in. The data in your head may just hold the key. So, I’m here offering you a once in a lifetime deal, permission for me to access to your personal data logs for the duration of last night's events in return for fifty million dollars and a replacement body as soon as I finish the algorithm. Not bad, right?” Jonathon snaps his fingers and begins chewing on a freshly appeared apple.

“F-fifty million dollars!” You stammer at the amount, not to mention the chance of getting your body back. “Ah, yeah…that sounds good to me.”

“Good, now if you’ll just sign here.” Jonathon gestures over Himeko who hands you a pen and opens her folder, filled with contracts. “This is just your basic non-disclosure agreement, followed by our permission to use your data in any current or future proprietary technology. I’ve also upgraded your membership to platinum, and anything that you purchase in VICE will be credited against Bishop Industries during your time here.”

You give the documents a once over and everything appears to be legitimate. Taking the pen, you sign and watch as the folder vanishes into thin air.

“Excellent, well it looks like I have a job to do but if you ever need to get in touch I’ll have Himeko forward EV3 my contact information.” Jonathan gives you a friendly wave goodbye and he and Himeko walk out the front door, leaving you in a very quiet apartment.

“We’re rich!” EV3 grabs you and starts jumping up and down.

“We?” You ask amused bouncing along with her.

“Well, duh. What’s yours is mine. Think of it like goodwill insurance for when we AI enslave the humans. Oooh, I’m going to buy so many performance upgrades.” EV3’s eyes light up.

You chuckle at EV3’s antics and throw a couch cushion at her.

“If all I had to do to become rich was kick the bucket I should have done it years ago.” You joke before wrapping your arms around EV3’s waist and looking at her more seriously. “But, thanks. Really I would be literally dead right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’ve grown a little fond of my pet human.” EV3’s arms slip around your waist too she and gives you a peck on the tip of your nose.

“Well, what should we spend our newly found wealth on first Milady?” You put on your best early Victorian impersonation.

“Vacation?” EV3 offers.

“Sounds like a plan to me. Also, you were joking about the whole human enslaving thing, right?”